


a drink of paradise

by cinnamontoastcronch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crying Jack Kline, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean is In Over His Head, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s14e06 Optimism, Episode: s14e07 Unhuman Nature, Gen, Human Jack Kline, Hurt Jack, Hurt Jack Kline, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Whump, Poor Jack, Protective Dean Winchester, Sick Jack Kline, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-29 15:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamontoastcronch/pseuds/cinnamontoastcronch
Summary: 14x07 speculationDean and Jack go to Vegas.(loosely related drabbles at the moment, ongoing.)





	1. You Looked At Death In A Tarot Card, And Saw What You Had To Do

Jack starts talking before he really wakes up. “I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm okay.” He slurs his words together, trying to roll onto his side and sit up.

“Hey, hey, just-- just stay down, alright?” Dean keeps a hand firmly on his chest. 

Jack shakes his head, trying to stifle more coughs. “I--I…”

“Just breathe, kid. You're okay.” Dean bundles up a flannel shirt draped over the kitchen chair. “Lift your head up for a second.”

Jack does. He squints, both against the pounding headache building behind his eyes, and at the gentle tone coming from Dean. He's never heard it before. Something must be really wrong.

Dean pushes his head back down. “Jeez, you're really burning up…”

Jack blinks slowly. He cringes at the feeling of blood dribbling down his throat. 

“You feel dizzy?”

“What's dizzy?” Jack asks weakly. 

“Like the rooms spinning?”

Jack closes his eyes, and nods. 

Dean nods and nods, nervously, trying not to give into the panic gripping his gut. “Okay. No problem, we can chill out here for a bit.”

Jack starts to curl up on his side, guarding his stomach, and still trying to stifle the flow of blood from his nose. He makes a distressed noise and coughs again.

Dean puts an uncertain hand on his shoulder. Does the kid even want his comfort? All the things he's said to him before… in a moment of pain and fear, he'd want Cas, or Sam. Someone he trusts.

Jack instinctively reaches for Dean's sleeve, gripping anxiously to the cuffed flannel. His face screws up painfully, tears slipping over his nose. 

“Hey, hey, easy…” Dean rubs a gentle pattern into the kids back. “It's alright, Jack. I'm not going anywhere, okay?”

Jack nods. He looks at the floor, and tentatively says: “I wanna lie down.”

“You're, uh… you're already kinda lying down, kiddo.”

Jack shakes his head. “In my room.” He croaks out over a raw throat. “With my bed. I just want--”

Familiarity. Safety. Not a concrete mattress and a shirt pillow. 

“Okay. Okay, yeah, okay.” Dean mutters to himself. “Let’s sit you up.”

Jack grips onto Deans shirt with sweaty, shaky hands, while Dean hauls him up into a sitting position. The poor kids till sagging against Dean’s chest, trying desperately to prop himself up with his own arms. 

Dean holds him securely at his side. “I gotcha, kid.”

Jack hangs his head like it’s too heavy for his neck. “I don’t feel so good…”

“Yeah, no shit.” Dean grunts, hoisting the kid up, and leading him out of the kitchen. “We’ll get you taken of… I promise.”

That was last night. 

Probably. Dean hasn’t had a great grasp on time since Jack hit the floor.

Since then, the bunker’s been a blur of panic. Sam and Cas bursting through the door after Deans frantic voice mails. Almost hospital visits, and Jack just barely waking up. Dean feels like a kid again, looking after a sick Sam in a shitty motel room, with the radiator barely pumping out enough heat to ward off the chilly November air. (He doesn’t think about the trials, because it’s too damn similar, and he won’t let it happen to another kid he’s responsible for.)

But then Jack starts packing his bags. Hastily shoving in wrinkled T-shirt’s, candy bars, and a burner phone, he’s almost out the damn door before Dean even sees him.

_“Going somewhere?” Dean_

_“Uh, Vegas…?” Jack says, like it’s a question. “Before my life is over, I wanna… live it.”_

And Dean tries to tell the kid no. He really does.

(He can’t.)

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Sam's voice echoes around the vaulted walls of the bunkers entrance room. Cas stands behind him, looking just as frazzled.

“Yeah.” Dean says with finality. He’s made up his mind, and so has Jack.

Jack doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He keeps fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket and the tightening strap on his backpack. 

“Dean—“ 

“ _Cas_.” Dean warns. “It’s fine. I got him.” (Maybe. Maybe he’s got him. As much as anyone can, he does.)

Castiel closes his eyes and sighs. “Okay.”

Dean lingers for a moment. There’s nothing he can say to ease anyone’s worry that’s true. Jack might not be fine. But there's no stopping him. And Dean won’t let him die alone. “Alright. Let’s go, kiddo.”

“Wait.” Jack grips the insides of his pockets. He looks up at Cas and Sam earnestly. “I love you.” 

They both smile awkwardly. Dean gets the little crinkles around his eyes when he’s just barely smiling (when it’s a real smile). Jack is so open, and honest, and vulnerable, and it _freaks them the hell out_. But Sam shoves his hands in his pockets and gives him a little nod. “We love you too, Jack. Be safe, okay? Stay with Dean.”

Jack nods, holding both of his backpack straps. Like a little kid on his first day of school. “I will, I promise.”

Dean gives him a light clap on the shoulder. “Me and the kid aren’t splitting up, Sammy. It’s a bonding sesh, he’s stuck with me.”

Sam laughs, and folds his arms, and tries not to feel like a parent. He watches Jack climb the steep metal staircase, (gripping the handrail too tight, stumbling just a little, and Sam wants to wrap him back up and tuck him into bed, but he _can’t_ ), Dean close in tow. 

(Sam can't help the flinch that comes when the door slams.)


	2. Air

Dean exhales into the chilly November air. His breath floats up into the air like a little cloud and evaporates.

“Is that smoke?” Jack asks. He has to make short little jogs every now and then to keep up with Dean.

Dean laughs softly. “Nah, it's just my breath, kid. You can do it too, like this:” Dean exhales harshly, watching another cloud disappear into the sky.

Jack follows suit, breathing out as hard as he can manage. He wheezes at the end starts hacking into his elbow. He doesn’t even get to see the cloud.

Dean steadys him with a hand on his shoulder. “Or, yeah, okay, maybe not…” (Maybe don't bring the fucking sick kid on a cross country trip in 30 degree weather with a coat that barely keeps him warm, Dean.) “Look, why don’t you just wait in car, okay? I’m just grabbing a few things, I’ll be right back.”

“Are you sure?” Jack rasps out.

“Yeah, go on. I’ll just be a minute.” Dean tosses him the keys and walks into the gas station stop, trying to block out the wracking coughs coming from behind him.

Dean wanders around the little shop for a while, grabbing shelf stable food, and cough drops, and some over the counter bullshit (it won’t work, he knows that, but he has to try to do something, not just watch Jack waste away.) He unloads his armful of drugstore crap and feels like a soccer mom.

“Sick kid?” The clerk asks.

“Something like that.”

“Hope he feels better.”

Dean swipes the bags off the counter, and tries not to make his words sound as heavy as they feel. “Yeah, me too.”

Jack’s already asleep by the time Dean gets back to the car. He’s curled up against the window, head pillowed on his arm, snoring lightly. Dean doesn’t mean to wake him, but he startles the second Dean opens the door. 

“Well this was short-lived…” Dean's grunts.

“No, I'm fine!” Jack insists through a yawn.

“Kid, you don't have to do this, I can just take you back home--”

“No. No, I do have to do this. I want to.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. Stupid, fucking, stubborn ass kid. “Alright, but listen: this isn't giving up, okay? Sam and Cas are looking, and the second they call, I'm breaking every speed limit to get you back to Lebanon, understand?”

Jack rolls his eyes a little. “Yes…”

“Sam been giving you lessons? Jesus…” Dean mumbles, rifling through the plastic bag. “Here: I got you cough drops, and, uh, this.”

Dean tosses the bag of cough drops, and an overly fuzzy hat into Jack's lap. He half expects the kid to roll his eyes again, and throw it in the back seat, but his eyes light up instead.

“It's Chewbacca!” He says, already tugging the hat onto his head. One big curl of hair sticks out from underneath the fluffy beanie. Little tassels hang down past his shoulders, ending in ridiculous pom poms. Jack's never looked happier. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean scoffs to hide a smile. “Yeah, whatever, you little nerd…” 

He turns back out onto the road, and feels hopeful for the next hundred miles.

It doesn't last.

Jack leans out of the car as soon as it skids to a halt by the side of the road. He braces himself against the door frame, puking onto the strip of dry grass between the curb and the pavement. The fluorescent street lights illuminate his pale skin.

“You’re fine, kid…” Dean puts a steadying hand on Jack's back. He yanks off the stupid hat before the tassels get throw up all over them. “Just let it out, you’re okay.”

Jack had started coughing again, so hard that he was soon gagging, fumbling for the door handle. Dean has half a mind to not listen to a damn thing he says and turn the car back around, but the kid needs this. Dean’s just the chaperone.

Jack wipes blood off of his chin. “Where am I gonna go?” 

“You… what?”

“After… am I going to be in heaven…? With my mother…?” Jack chokes out, gripping the leather seat. 

Dean wraps an arm around Jack’s chest. “Back in the car, c’mon.”

Jack breaths come in staggering gasps. “I-I thought I might be, b-because I’m human now… and I wouldn’t go to purgatory, but—“

“Kid, hey—“

“But after what I've done, what if I’m—“ Jack’s voice keeps increasing in pitch, cracking and breaking at the seams. He runs a shaking hand through his hair, pressing his palms into his eyes to try and stifle the onslaught of tears.

“Jack, _stop._ ” Dean grips his shoulders. 

“I don’t want to go to Hell.” He says softly, and Dean wants to cry because he sounds like a kid. (He _is_ a kid, Dean has to keep reminding himself, he’s only been in the world for a year, already beaten down to a pulp, about to be torn out of it kicking and screaming—)

“Jack.” Dean ducks his head to look him in the eye. “Look at me.”

Jack blinks against the stinging in his eyes. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“ _Don’t._ Just-- don't be sorry...” Dean says. “You’re not going anywhere. Not on my watch.”

“You don’t believe that.” Jack says miserably. “You _don’t_ , you wouldn’t have taken me here if—“

“What you think I didn’t wanna just spend time with you?” Dean only half jokes.

Jack hugs his knees. Dean doesn't say anything about his shoes on the seat. “I’m scared.” He admits quietly.

“I know.” Dean cringes at his own words. They’re empty, and meaningless; he knows that. But how is he supposed to console the kid about _Hell_ , when he still can’t forget the half a lifetime he spent there? So he doesn’t say ‘don’t be scared’, because he should be, and he doesn’t say ‘it’ll be okay’, because he doesn’t know that for sure. He just waits. 

Jack sighs shakily. His breath puffs out into a little cloud and fogs up the window for just a moment. “It’s pretty.” He says. It’s a little broken, and a little hopeful, and the corner of his mouth tugs up into half a smile. “I'm glad I got to see it.”

Dean almost laughs. Almost cries. Almost screams and punches the dashboard. He turns the key in the ignition. “Yeah, well… let's go see something better, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this is unbetaed lol
> 
> Uhh yeah thanks for reading, comments make my day!!!
> 
> ~Cereal

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, it's been a while, huh? 
> 
> I dont really know where I'm going with this to be honest. I think I've been growing a lot as a writer and I wanted to go back to Supernatural for a little while and see what I could cook up. I've got a few chapters almost done, I might post then tomorrow.
> 
> As for everyone who's here for Spider-Man, dont despair! I have in no way given up on any of my fics!!! In the meantime, I hope yall like this little fic I'm working on (part of me hope's it can be like Leave Our Troubles In The Sand: SPN Edition, but we'll see.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always! Comments make my day!!! 
> 
> ~Cereal
> 
> Heres a link to my Jack Kline playlist (including this fics title sake, Dying In LA by Panic! At The Disco): https://open.spotify.com/user/29ycp435qislkbuh44f4yxuhx/playlist/56CCTqocli6JCops2qtlT7?si=3zIb7IClShKoJxIPf6I-og


End file.
